Awkward Moments
by The Aberrant One
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles that link to my twisted "War of Angels" 'verse, but aren't actually part of the main story. Here you will find some info about various characters and possibly pick hints and clues about their origins and possible future.
1. Of Sticks and Bombs

Disclaimer: The Incredibles, owned by Pixar. Aberrant, owned by White Wolf/Onyx publishing.

Author's Notes: Okay, not sure where this idea came from. Originally was going to redo "The Dicker Files" (which I still might), but I was watching "The Flash" again and I got this weird idea of doing a collection of drabbles that kind of delve into the background of various characters in my twisted 'verse and maybe give you some hints or clues about them. This will be updated sporadically when I get a weird idea about some of the characters.

* * *

Okay, you know the whole thing where some protagonist does the whole first person thing and introduces himself and what he does when he's telling his own story? I guess this would be it...my name is Jean-Paul Renard, also known as the nova Elite mercenary called "Bomber". Then again, you probably know me from my "Bomber's Bay" videos I put online all the time. I'm kind of famous, or infamous, depending on who you ask.

My father was Philippe Sebastian Renard, formerly known as Bomb Voyage.

Yes, **that** Bomb Voyage...nemesis to Mr. Incredible, freelance criminal, and, from what people have told me, a loving father and one hell of a poker player. At least that's what they tell me since I don't have much recollection of him since he and my mom died when I was three years old. According to the police reports, they say it was a gas explosion and I was the only survivor due to my powers kicking in. Personally, I think it's a bunch of bullshit because I don't think gas explosions come in the form of glowing electric blue arcs of energy dancing about before exploding...at least that's what I remember.

But we're getting off track here. You people want to know a little bit more about me, so here goes. Lets go back to my early years, shall we?

* * *

 _ **Sinclaire Military Academy**_

 _ **(Proudly training your children to become killers before they enlist)**_

 _ **Ten years ago…**_

Fifteen year old Jean-Paul Renard laughed maniacally as he drove Commandant Sinclaire's Humvee through the academy's front gates. "Fifteen points!"

Meanwhile, Nicholas DeYorke, Jean's classmate, best friend, and partner in crime, stood on top of the vehicle like a surfboard, flipping off the guards at the gate who dove for cover as he shouted, "FREEDOM!"

In his office, Commadant Martin Sinclaire frantically dialed a number on the phone sitting on his desk. A couple seconds later, his expression became more fearful when someone answered.

"Talk to me."

"Dicker, it's Martin. We have a problem."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "Okay, what did they do this time?"

"Aside from cripple a few of their upper classmen, blow up the swimming pool, trigger a bio-hazard alert in the chemistry class room, played frisbee golf with land mines on the gun-range, and stole my Humvee...not much," Sinclaire replied, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. "Dammit, Richard, I know I agreed to act as their keeper, but they're becoming a nightmare. One of them was bad enough, but the two of them together..."

Sinclaire shuddered as he remembered that fateful day when two six year old boys happened to meet each other outside his office. If he had only known…

There was an odd noise on the other end of the line. For a moment, Sinclaire could have sworn Dicker was stifling a chuckle. "I'm glad you find this amusing, Dicker," he snapped. "And you didn't tell me that Renard knew how to make complex explosives on his own."

There was a pause on the other end. "Damn," the NSA Director finally said, "I guess it runs in the family."

"Your agency owes my academy a new swimming pool, Dicker. And don't get me started on DeYorke, what he did to Senator McGrady's son was inexcusable."

"Is this the McGrady boy that leads a group of his fellow classmen in hazing the other cadets that usually ends up with some of the victims getting injured?"

"It's tradition Dicker, and I keep it under control," Sinclaire said. "I know Malcom McGrady is an obnoxious bastard, but he didn't deserve to be stripped down, duct-taped, and dropped in a patch of nettles overnight."

"And what about the other boys in McGrady's group?" Dicker asked.

"They were lucky this time," Sinclaire replied. "Mostly just a few scrapes and a couple broken bones. I still can't believe that a half dozen seventeen and eighteen year olds were beaten to a pulp and dropped in a dumpster." He paused again when another man in a military uniform knocked on the frame of his office door.

"Sorry to intrude, Colonel," the newcomer said. "But something's come up."

"What is it, Sergeant?"

"You might want to turn on the television and see for yourself, sir."

Panic resurfaced on Sinclaire's face as he grabbed the remote off his desk and turned on the television set that sat in a corner of his office. His face paled even further as he watched the scene unfold.

"My Humvee..." he whimpered softly.

"Martin, what's going on?" Dicker asked.

"Tune in to WFXT," Sinclaire answered weakly. "How the hell did they even manage to do that?" he asked as he turned up the volume to the television.

" _ **As you can see from our aerial footage coming from our chopper, that really is a Humvee driving across the rooftop of Copley Place. We do not know how they managed that, but...oops...it has now fallen through the glass enclosure and is now driving through the shopping center's upper level. Unbelievable..."**_

* * *

Whoa, okay...before you get the wrong idea about me and Nick...well...about me at least, I just want to clarify that we were teenagers and that we were in our rebellious phase at that time.

Yeah...that's it...we were being rebellious...yep...definitely rebels. Trust me when I say that we were innocent little kids when we first started out.

* * *

 **Sinclaire Military Academy**

 **(proudly turning your grade-school kids into sociopaths for the right price since the end of the Vietnam War)**

 **Nineteen Years Ago**

Two six year old boys, one with black hair and one with brown, sat outside the commandant's office. The black haired boy calmly leaned back in his chair and counted the ceiling tiles. He really didn't understand why he was in trouble. After all, it was that McGrady kid's fault for picking on what he thought was lowly first grader. The boy grinned as he remembered beating the fourth grader with his own lacrosse stick after taking it from him.

The brown haired boy drummed his fingers on the armrests of his own chair before looking over at the black haired kid. "Hey," he said in greeting.

The black haired kid looked in his direction and nodded. "Hey," he said back.

"I'm Nick," the brown haired boy said. "My full name is Nicholas DeYork, but Nick works."

"Jean-Paul Renard," the black haired boy said.

"Cool name," Nick said. "Sounds like a pirate name. So...Jean, you new here?"

"Yeah."

"So what did ya' do?"

"I beat up a fourth grader named McGrady."

Nick's eyes widened. "Oh, you're THAT kid!" He then got up out of his chair and sat down in the one next to Jean. "A newbie and you beat the shit out of McGrady. I was going to do something else, but you beat me to it."

"And what were you gonna' do?" Jean asked.

"Not much," Nick replied. "I was just going to wait until a few hours after lights out, grab a baseball bat, and then sneak into his room and go to work on his legs."

Jean smiled at that. "Awesome." Then he looked around for a moment before speaking in a much softer tone so they couldn't be overheard. "So, Nick, wanna' go blow something up later?"

* * *

Okay, okay, maybe weren't innocent kids back then either. But c'mon, what did you expect? I mean, I was the son of a deceased super-villain who was taken in by some of Dad's former French Legionnaire buddies and they taught me a few things before they dropped me off at the academy.

As for Nick...well...Nick was just crazy, but hey...those are best kind of friends to have, right?


	2. Of Sticks and Bombs 2: Partycrasher

**Disclaimer:** Incredibles, owned by Pixar and Brad Bird. Aberrant, owned by Onyx Publishing. "Love Etc." written by Pet Shop Boys (yes, that old 80s group...surprised they're not dead and the song was released in 2008).

 **Author's Notes:** As some of you know, I'm not a big fan of writing "present tense" when writing a story, especially when it's first person present-tense. But...for some reason it works for writing Bomber and Slapstick segments.

For this chapter...we get a stand-alone Slapstick story (along with a little background info on this crazy and fun loving psychopath). As much as I hate to say it, you might want to listen to "Love Etc" when reading this since a large portion of this fic supposedly all takes place during the timed length of the song except near the end.

As for when this segment takes place, I'm going to say somewhere between "Interesting Times" and "First Strike"….before Violet gets shot and receives her "upgrade".

* * *

Hi there, my name is Nicholas DeYorke, but otherwise known as that awesomely cool, in-your-face, all-around badass nova Elite called Slapstick. I'm in my mid-twenties, I rank number three (or four...Jean and I keep switching back and forth on the chart there) in the Elite rankings. I would be number one or two but, unfortunately, Jean and I use the same contracting agency the egotistical assholes who rank in the top two spots use.

Hey, being a nova mercenary is not easy. A lot of novas think "Hey, I have powers, I think I'll be some badass Elite mercenary and make a killing while doing some actual killing!"

Okay, if I had a dime for every idiot who thought that, I'd have...well, I'd have enough to by a year's worth of pizza, beer, and some prostitutes. Some of those idiots realize that it's not always glamorous and have to do some really shitty jobs before something big comes their way. Half of those poor bastards end up getting killed, half of the survivors realize this life isn't meant for them and move on and the surviving quarter actually manage to get hired representation with an agency.

The other half of the original group of poor bastards try something stupid like targeting others and try to kill their way up the ladder...which, ironically, is how Jean and I actually came up through the ranks. No, we didn't go looking for other Elite-wannabes to kill; they would come after us, we would kill 'em, and then do something funny (like the time we took a dead guy on a roller coaster, took a lot of selfies, and even posted a video on Youtube) with the body. More guys came after Jean and me, we kept killing them (or, in Jean's words, "self-defensed them to death"), the bodies kept piling up, and then actual Elites started coming for us because they felt that Jean and I were a blight on their profession.

Killing a bunch of wannabes really doesn't get you noticed, but killing a few established Elites does and, before everyone knew it, Slapstick and Bomber were signed up with Anna Devries' little agency which has the very unoriginal (but very influence-wielding) name, "The Devries Agency". Anna, aside from being this very hot...er...um…

Did I say very hot?

Um...I meant to say...she's moderately attractive, intelligent, and...um...very professional.

Yeah, that's it! She's a fairly attractive, intelligent, and professional young woman who happens to be a very powerful nova herself (she's a telepath) that could melt your brain into a puddle of goo while giving you a sexy little smirk. Using her family's wealth, she decided to create a contracting company for novas a few years back (one of the first, actually) and she signed some of the more powerful Elites right away. Two of those Elites being the assholes known as Pursuer and Totentanz...or as I like to them, Bitchman and Nazi-Boy.

Long story short: Jean and I pissed off some people, they hired some novas to take us out, we killed them, our enemies hired Elites, we killed them, then they sub-contracted the Devries agency, we killed most of their Elites, embarrassed Pursuer and Totentanz by constantly fighting them to a draw and surviving their attacks, and Jean kind of killed one of Pursuer's prized German Shepherd pups on accident (or so he says, but he knew that dog was trained to fetch anything thrown in the air). After several failed attempts to take us down, Anna realized that we actually had talent and signed us on...end of long-winded long story condensed into a couple of long and grammatically incorrect run-on sentences.

Because we were signed on with the Devries Agency, which got us some really plum assignments and a lot of money, we had to agree to a sort of ceasefire with Pursuer and Totentanz. Oh, we could still target each other, but a fatality would cut into Anna's bottom line and, as per the agreement with our contracts, the killer would forfeit contract bonuses for five years and will only be given low-grade contracts with a fixed "base-rate" during that time. Or, to quote, Anna: "A McDonalds employee will make more in those five years than you will."

To be honest, I think she put that penalty in there because she realized that the only way to really hurt Jean and me was through the wallet because telepathically melting our brains down wouldn't work since we'd just heal the injures back...though the temporary amnesia for the next few weeks kind of sucks.

Okay...so, that's pretty much all the background information you really need on me, right?

What? You want to talk about me and Bomber?

Oh, c'mon...what's there to tell? Jean and I kind of met back at some military school when we were kids. Then we went our separate ways after we graduated. I joined the Marines and he became a professional thief/extreme sports junkie.

Okay, I'll admit, that's kind of glossing it over. I was discharged out of the Corps after two years, but it was an honorable discharge...more or less. When it's revealed that you're a nova, the military will do just about anything to keep you, especially if you're willing to stick around and kill for them. Unfortunately, my "world debut" was very public and when you kill four Elites during the middle of what was supposed to be a "classified" covert operation and it gets broadcast over several news networks via live-streaming...it kind of hampered any chances of having a quiet life as a faceless jarhead in the Corps.

And, what can I say, I do tend to showboat a little...and yeah, I also enjoyed the lure of the extra cash Elites would make. Then Jean started doing his "Bomber's Bay" thing, we would sometimes collaborate or fight each other, depending on how things were. And then there was that whole thing with the XWF…

No, we will NOT talk about the XWF thing. Okay? It hurts that Paul Heyman banned us from ever doing another event, but I can't blame him. I mean...we did blow up the hallowed Bingo Hall, but we did pay to have it rebuilt and reinforced…

But we're done here, right? Let's talk about my current assignment, shall we?

* * *

 **Hollywood, California**

It's a pretty easy assignment, actually. Just show up at party at some estate in the Hollywood Hills and kill some very bad people.

Alright, alright, maybe they aren't all bad, but they're attending a party that is being hosted by some Cartel leader's playboy son and I've been paid very generously to send very brutal message to a Lieutenant in the Medellin Cartel that he pissed off some people when he ordered some of his goons to kill some Industrialist Businessman's daughter. And anyone attending this party is probably being paid to be there or is just there to get high off whatever drugs are being passed around at the party...and they probably want to be seen as partying with the "elitist rich party crowd" and hang out with whatever high-profile drugged out celebrities that might be hanging out there.

Oh...this will definitely be a night they will remember, alright. Well, at least the ones who manage to live through it.

So tonight, I pull up the Platinum Edition Escalade outside this big-ass ivory white mansion nestled in the Hollywood Hills. I have to admit, it's a very beautiful estate and practically screams "Old Hollywood" (which means there's probably a few dead hookers or wannabe starlets from decades past buried in the foundations or the walls somewhere). Very solid architecture and craftsmanship involved, something you don't see in the modern day (which means there's a good chance there really are dead bodies somewhere in the walls and foundations of the estate). A valet greets me as I step out of the vehicle and allow him to park it for me. It's kind of sad, actually, it's a nice vehicle and I did enjoy driving it.

But, alas, it wasn't mine to begin with and it served its purpose of getting me here...and it wasn't like the original owner was going to miss it since he's kind of dead. I mean, after all, I did put a bullet through his head before I ran his body through a wood chipper and then dumped the bloody remains in the middle of the ocean earlier today.

Oh yeah, Jaws and his buddies ate well this afternoon.

I take a look at my reflection in one of the Escalade's windows before it drives off. A handsome smiling man with black hair wearing three thousand dollar clothes and a black overcoat smiles back at me and gives me a thumbs up before disappearing as the Escalade drives away.

Oh yeah...I definitely look good.

I chuckle softly as I walk up to the entrance of the mansion, giving the guards a smug grin when I approach them. After all, I'm looking the part of some twenty-something member of the Hollywood party-set, they would be suspicious if I didn't give them some sort of attitude. A thousand dollars worth of hundred dollar bills handed to them makes whatever suspicions they might have had vanish completely.

Hell, they don't even give me a thorough pat-down before letting me in. Just a few seconds and they signal me to walk right through. Damn...I guess the age old saying that "money talks" really is true.

As I continue down the entryway, I'm hit with a wave of music that, thanks to the building's acoustics and the bitching system being used by the hired DJ, makes me feel like I've fallen into on ocean made of sound. The various strobe effects and flashing lights along with some of the glowing attire various party goers are wearing make it look like the ultimate acid trip...or a fucked up Cirque Du Soleil number...really not sure.

 _You need more, you need more, you need more_

 _You need more, you need more, you need more_

 _You need more, you need more, you need more_

I arch an eyebrow in curiosity as I recognize the tune. Pet Shop Boys!? Really? Damn, this whole recycling/regurgitating the 80s thing is really starting to scare me. First it was the film and television industry, now we're bringing back pop bands from the 80s?

 _Boy, it's tough getting on in the world_

 _When the sun doesn't shine and a boy needs a girl_

 _It's about getting out of a rut, you need luck_

 _But you're stuck and don't know how, oh_

I manage to suppress the slight shudder of terror as I start to search for my target. Ah, there he is...Raoul Vega-Montero Ruiz, looking down from the second floor of the mansion surrounded by a trio of girls of different ethnic backgrounds. Slight muscular build, slicked back hair, goatee, wearing a white suit, and looking all smug, entitled, arrogant...like your stereotypical young drug lord should look. Oh my god...it is the 80s all over again! Okay, Raoul, just for the retro "Miami Vice" look alone, you deserve to die.

 _Don't have to be a big bucks Hollywood star_

 _Don't have to drive a super car to get far_

 _Don't have to live a life of power and wealth_

 _Don't have to be beautiful but it helps_

I smile as I make my way up the steps, pausing for a moment to help myself to a glass of champagne from the tray of a server as they walk by. I take a sip as I continue up the steps and approach the target. I pass a couple of his body guards and give hem a half dazed laugh, giving them the impression that I'm buzzed, high, or both, but having a good time.

 _Don't have to buy a house in Beverly hills_

 _Don't have to have your daddy paying the bills_

 _Don't have to live a life of power and wealth_

 _Don't have to be beautiful but it helps_

Have to admit, it's a catchy beat and I can't help dancing a little as I approach the young drug lord. I raise my glass in a toast which he returns.

"May the good times never end," I say.

"Indeed," he replies as he and his ladies raise their glasses as well and finish off their drinks as I finish mine.

 _You need more_

 _Than a big blank check to be a lover_

 _Or a gulf stream jet to fly you door to door_

 _Somewhere chic on another shore_

I then suddenly lunge forward, shoving my glass into his throat, causing the glass' bowl to break before the stem continues into his larynx. I hit with enough force that the stem goes through his throat and partially protrudes out the back of his neck before the momentum causes him to topple over the railing and fall to the floor below.

 _You need more, you need more, you need more_

 _You need more, you need more, you need more_

 _You need love, you need love, you need love_

The girls do the predictable thing and scream as they run off.

The closest body guards do their predictable thing and move in, drawing their weapons, preparing to fire as they close in on me.

I do the unpredictable thing and charge towards them. Since we're at near point-blank range, I'm able to grab the arm of one of the body guards and pull him close, screwing up his aim and use him as a shield while his fellow body guard opens fire.

 _Too much of anything is never enough_

 _Too much of everything is never enough_

I manage to grab my meat-shield's weapon and return fire, four shots hitting my target dead center and sending him staggering through the railing and joining his dead boss down below as I drop the dead guy I was using as a shield. Honestly, I really don't need the protection since I do have this nifty regenerating power, but bullets still hurt when they hit.

By now, most of the party goers are screaming, running for the exits while the armed guards start storming in, opening fire at me as I bolt for cover. Some of the party people are unlucky and get gunned down by the overzealous guards. Part of me wants to feel some sympathy for them, but I don't. After all, I'm a professional killer and most of the people attending an event like this are spoiled rich brats who have never worked a real job in their pathetic little lives. I happen to look out and see a certain blonde bitch with the last name of Hilton being escorted out by her bodyguards. I'm tempted to put one in the back of her head, but a swarm of bullets makes me duck for cover again.

 _Boy, it's tough getting on in the world_

 _When the sun doesn't shine and a boy needs a girl_

 _It's about getting out of a rut, you need luck_

 _But you're stuck and you don't know how, oh_

As I bolt down another set of stairs to get me back on the main level, I manage to knife-hand one guy with an AK-47. I yank his weapon as he goes down and fire a couple rounds into him while he's busy falling down the stairs and tripping up a couple of his buddies were dumb enough to follow him. A couple seconds later, they too end up getting riddled with bullets.

I toss the now empty AK aside and help myself to a couple more pistols from the other dead guards on the ground as I scurry and take cover behind the bar. I trade fire with a couple more gunmen before ducking back down. I grab an errant bottle of whiskey that some how manage to not break when it fell and landed on the floor and take a swig as I do a silent six count.

 _Don't have to be a big bucks Hollywood star_

 _Don't have to drive a super car to get far_

 _Don't have to wear a smile much colder than ice_

 _Don't have to be beautiful but it's nice_

Okay, I just had a thought...we're in the middle of a firefight and the damn Pet Shop Boys are still playing? Why hasn't someone blown up the DJ's equipment yet? Damn bastard probably fled already...when this is over, I am going to hunt him down and put a bullet in each hand so he'll never be able to inflict his musical tastes on people like me ever again.

I shake that thought off and jump up from behind the counter and vault over it, performing a somersault landing on the ground with the whiskey bottle in one hand and a pistol in the other. As I predicted, the morons weren't expecting me to do crazy shit like this and they are still having trouble tracking me as I get up and throw the bottle as I'm rolling back up on my feet and bringing my pistol up.

 _You need more_

 _Than Gerhard Richter hangin' on your wall_

 _A chauffeur driven limousine on call_

 _To drive your wife and lover to a white tie ball_

My shot hits the flying whiskey bottle before it hits one of the gunmen, causing the bottle to explode, sending whiskey and glass fragments flying everywhere. I'm not sure, but I think the bullet might have actually hit one of the guys in the chest, but that doesn't matter to me. My little 'whiskey-bang' stunt was meant as a distraction than an actual means to hurt or kill anyone.

And it worked...shit, I thought crap like that only happened in Michael Bay movies!

I don't bother trying to appreciate my work, though. I'm focusing more on getting the fuck out of here. But instead of going for the exits, I make my way to the large windows on the west side of the ball room overlooking the swimming pool. I empty the rest of my current pistol's magazine into any surviving goons dumb enough to get in my way.

 _You need more, you need more, you need more_

 _You need more, you need more, you need more_

 _You need love_

I reach over and push a tiny button on my watch that activates a five second detonator and start sprinting all out towards the windows.

 _I believe that we can achieve_

 _(You need more, you need more, you need more)_

 _The love that we need_

 _(You need more, you need more, you need more)_

And, of course, there has to be one heavy set gunman who literally comes out of nowhere and starts firing at me just as I start my jump through the plate glass windows. For a second, everything seems to go in slow-motion and I can feel the bullets literally whiz by me as I smash through the glass. Then I feel the stinging burn as two bullets go through my shoulder and everything snaps into real time as I resume by fall towards the pool.

 _I believe, call me naive_

 _(You need more, you need more, you need more)_

 _Love is for free, oh_

 _(You need more, you need more, you need more)_

Then I hear the loud roar behind me as the explosives I had planted in the Escalade go off, taking out the other cars parked with it and causing a bunch of secondary explosions that proceed to blow away the front half of the mansion. I hit the water and I'm momentarily submerged as the rest of the mansion starts to erupt in flames.

As I break the surface, I see the whole place is now on fire and yet...the damn music is still playing!

 _Don't have to be a big bucks Hollywood star_

 _Don't have to drive a super car to get far_

 _Don't have to live a life of power and wealth_

 _Don't have to be beautiful but it helps_

 _Beautiful but it helps, beautiful but it helps_

I pull myself out of the pool and start to make my way down an embankment at the edge of the property, taking what appears to be a private dog walking trail for whoever lives in this neighborhood, silently cursing under my breath as my bullet wounds heal up, and make my way to my pick up point where another Escalade was waiting for me.

"I said I wanted an inconspicuous getaway vehicle," I snap at the driver who grinned at me as he opened the passenger side door for me to get in.

"Hey, you didn't leave me much to work with," Jean fires back at me while he starts up the engine. "Besides, we're in the snobby Hollywood Hills area...Escalades are common. Besides, we'd kind of stand out in a convertible."

"Okay, you have a point," I admit. "Now c'mon...let's get outta' here."

"You got it, buddy...but..."

I notice the hesitant tone in Jean's voice.

"But," I prompt him. "But...what?"

Jean gives me a sheepish grin. "Think we can head up to Metroville first?"

"Why?" I ask, rolling my eyes in irritation. "Why do you insist on punishing yourself like this, Jean? She's unattainable...sorry to break that to you, but it's true."

"Actually, it's got nothing to do with Violet Parr," Jean says defensively before hastily adding, "well, not directly."

"Okay, what's going on, Jean?"

"Well," Jean chuckles nervously. "I ran into a complication, but I managed to take them out before they could be a problem."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" I ask. "Who did you kill?"

"Oh, I didn't kill them...I just need to...um...drop them off."

"Who?"

Jean gestures over his shoulder with his head towards the back seat. I turn around to see someone wrapped up like a mummy in duct tape with a hood over their head. I pull the hood off to reveal an angry guy with spiky blond hair and a gag in his mouth.

"Jean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why the hell do you have Dash Parr tied up and gagged in the back of our getaway vehicle?"

"Um...yeah...you see, Nick, it's kind of a funny story…"


	3. Of Sticks and Bombs 3: Prom Night

_Disclaimer: Don't own Incredibles, Pixar does. Aberrant, owned by White Wolf/Onyx Publications._

 _Author's Notes: Okay, another new chapter to this weird "catch-all" series set in my WoA 'verse. This takes place near the end of Violet's senior year in high-school and shortly after the events of the last chapter._

 _On a more serious note, I didn't like certain aspects of this chapter, but I had to go there because it was part of the plot. Besides, I think you'll all agree with what happens at the end. I don't like dealing with things like rape in my stories, even if it's just briefly skirting around the edges of the subject._

* * *

 **Avalon Hotel and Resort**

 **Metroville, California**

Johnathan "Call me Johnny" Sykes chuckled softly to himself as he looked at the small pill bottle containing over a dozen white tablets. Thanks to magic pills like these, he had over five victories and was about to claim the ultimate prize at his Senior Prom. Tonight was the night that he, the most popular athlete, honor student, and all around awesome guy (since that asshole Tony Rydinger graduated last year and vacating the top spot), would claim victory by tapping that one piece of hot ass that every guy in Metroville High School longed to tap, but failed.

Tonight, he was going to score with Violet Parr.

Even that pompous jerk Tony Rydinger failed to tap that and he had been dating her for two years!

 _But he's not here and to the victor goes the spoils,_ Johnny thought himself as he tossed the bottle of pills up in the air like it was a ball and caught them. _Oh yeah, these tablets were worth the cash._

He had just bought them off a guy a few minutes earlier after he had excused himself, telling Violet he had to check something in his car. Cash and goods were exchanged, and now Johnny was snickering as he made his way out of the back alley behind the hotel and making his way back to the front entrance while he pocketed the bottle.

Oh yeah, tonight...he was going to get-

He didn't even get a chance to scream as someone grabbed him from behind and he was suddenly yanked skyward causing him to let out a startled gasp. The next thing he knew, he was being thrown across the rooftop of the Avalon hotel, rolling several feet before coming to stop in front of a pair of expensive looking shoes. He looked up and saw a man in his early twenties with black hair wearing a nice formal suit staring down at him and smiling.

"Hi there, my name is Jean-Paul," the man said a little too cheerfully before he reached down and, with one hand, picked up Johnny by the front of his suit jacket. "Here, let me help you up." He then threw Johnny against the wall of the maintenance shed that was next to the rooftop swimming pool.

"Damn, Jean, you were right," Johnny heard someone else say. He turned and saw another man wearing jeans and a t-shirt removing some sort of harness as he approached them. "Hey," he said. "I'm Nick. Don't mind me...I'm just here to make the grab and possibly ."shoot someone."

"What?" Johnny gasped. "You got the wrong guy!"

The two men glanced at each other for moment, exchanging disbelieving looks before returning their attention to Johnny.

"Um, I don't think so, Johnny boy," the one called Nick said before suddenly lunging forward, pinning Johnny against the wall while also reaching into his jacket. "What's this?" he asked as he examined the generic brown pill bottle filled with white tablets. "Holy shit, Jean! Are these what I think they are?"

The other man, Jean, caught the pill bottle when it was tossed at him, opened it, and examined one of the pills. After a couple seconds, he put the pill back in the bottle, closed it, and tossed it back to Nick. "Yep, it's your standard rohypnol."

Nick caught the bottle with his free hand, while he still kept Johnny pinned against the wall. "Wait, hold on," he said, looking back at Johnny. "You were going to use THESE on Violet Parr? Dude, you should be very thankful that we stopped you." Then he leaned forward and stage whispered, "Though I think Jean may still want to toss you off the building, but you won't be wearing a bungee harness if he does."

Jean shook his head. "It's tempting Nick, but we're not getting paid for this and he's just a kid."

"Y-yeah, man," Johnny stammered, "I'm just a kid...just a stupid kid trying to get lucky."

"Well, kid," Jean said, giving Johnny an evil grin. "This truly is your lucky day, because we aren't going to kill you, even though you were planning to rape someone I kind of consider a friend."

"Dude, you were practically counting the hours the last day leading up to her eighteenth birthday."

"Um, no Nick, that's something you would do."

"Oh, right...I forgot, I'm the crazy one, you're the level headed one…who happens to have it bad for the daughter of one of his father's arch-enemies."

"Wait...you two...you're supers!" Johnny exclaimed. "And I recognize you...you were those guys who killed that one nova Elite and took his corpse on a rollercoaster ride at Magic Mountain and posted the video on Youtube.!"

"Hey, Jean, I told you we'd be famous! The kid knows us!"

"Shut up, Nick," Jean snapped before returning his attention to Johnny and reaching into the younger man's pocket to pull out his wallet and open it. "Okay, Mr….seriously? Your name is Johnny Sykes?"

"Really?" Nick shook his head in disbelief. "Why do the high school assholes have such cliché names? What is this, a John Hughes film? For that alone, we should just toss his ass off the roof."

"No, wait!" Johnny cried out. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Oh, you're gonna' be sorry, alright, John-Boy," Nick laughed. He then looked over at Jean. "Go...be with your dream girl, I'll inflict some 'ironic punishment' on the punk."

"Nick." There was a tone of warning in Jean's voice, but Nick waved him off.

"Relax, Jean, I won't kill him. I swear on the collection of Playboy magazines that we swiped from Kommadant Sinclaire's stash."

"Um, didn't we re-sell those to the other kids on campus?"

"Hey, we made some extra money, didn't we? Look, go do your 'romantic stalker' thing, I'll deal with Wayward Wannabe Romeo here."

A few seconds later, after Jean had gone back in the building, Nick gave Johnny a reassuring smile. "Relax, John-Boy, I'm not going to kill you."

"Y-you're not?"

"Oh no," Nick chuckled wickedly as he popped the top off the pill bottle in his other hand. "I got something special planned for you."

Johnny's scream was cut off as a hand forced a couple of the pills in his mouth before covering it.

"The good news is," Nick said as he forced the teen to swallow the pills, "you won't remember this, but everyone else will."

* * *

 **Avalon Hotel & Resort **

**Main Ballroom, Third Floor**

Violet rolled her eyes in annoyance. It was over fifteen minutes since Johnny went to go check on his car, he should have been back by now.

 _But why are you even bothered,_ she thought to herself. _You only agreed to go out with him because you didn't want to spend a Friday night stuck at home babysitting Jack._

On the other hand, she was starting to think that maybe playing video games with her little brother would have been better than walking around the senior prom on the arm of her class's star athlete while everyone stared at her like she was a trophy.

 _Why did I even come here? Oh yeah: "The senior Prom is a magical experience, Vi!". You're full of shit, Kari._

As she stood on the edge of the dance floor, she let out a slightly annoyed sigh as the lights dimmed slightly and the DJ started to run an instrumental mix of a semi-romantic song that she thought she recognized but she couldn't be sure what it was.

"Let's define irony, shall we?" asked a soft voice behind her. Unfortunately, it was a voice she recognized and she was almost about to bring up a defensive force-field as she turned to face the person.

 _No...what's HE doing here?_

Jean-Paul Renard smiled at her as he continued to talk. "Irony, noun: an event where a bunch of late teens and twenty-somethings are slow dancing to an instrumental remix of an old song that was probably already old when they were born." He took a couple more steps before stopping a few feet away. "And yet...I guess a Billy Idol song or two does deserve to live a long life. Hello, Vi."

"Bo-" Violet caught herself, realizing that she didn't want to risk her secret identity by calling out an enemy in the open.

 _Though to be fair...he's more Dash's enemy. You two tend to flirt while fighting._

Violet shoved that thought aside as she glared at the young man. "Renard, what are you doing here?"

The young man smiled and Violet, for a moment, felt a little weak in the knees before she remembered that she last saw this guy when she blasted him off a rooftop. "Well, I could give you two answers," he replied. "The first being that I'm here to check out this young lady I know and see how she's doing. The other answer would be that I could be casing the hotel for a possible heist job."

Despite the situation, Violet couldn't help laughing at that reply. "So which one is it?" she asked.

"Dance with me and I'll tell you," Jean replied. "C'mon, Vi, it's just one dance, and we really have other places to go after this."

Cautiously, Violet let him guide her onto the dance floor and, while he hated to admit it, she actually found herself being pulled into the moment as they swayed to the music. "So which one was it?"

"Just the first one," Jean answered. "Though Stick and I do have another assignment in Sydney to plan for."

"Wait, hold on," Violet said, worry creeping into her voice. "Slapstick's here?"

"Relax, Vi...he's not in the building. In fact, he's just chillin' hanging out."

Violet narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "This wouldn't have anything to do with my date missing, would it?"

"Your date's fine, Vi, and we promise he'll be returned relatively unharmed."

"That's not very reassuring, Renard."

* * *

Back on the rooftop, Nick stood on the ledge wall, holding up a now half-dazed and drugged out Johnny Sykes who was tied up, gagged, stripped to his underwear, and wearing the bungee harness. "I'm telling you, John-Boy, you really have no idea."

"hmph?"

"Yeah, man. Seriously...you really have no idea how big a favor we are doing you. I mean, you were going to use a date-rape drug on VIOLET PARR."

"MmmmmPh!"

"Yeah, I agree. I know she's hot, but she's not my type. But for some reason, Jean has a thing for her, especially since she became legal a couple months ago." Nick shrugged and shook his head. "Don't see the appeal there, man. I mean, I prefer blondes myself, and not the air-headed bimbo/stripper type...I'm talking about the hot crazy ones who are willing to take you to the edge and beyond it." He paused for a moment as he considered something. "Come to think of it, hair color doesn't matter. Just give me a girl who is as crazy as I am...sadly, there aren't that many out there and the two I like happen to be dating each other."

"Mpph."

"Yeah, I know man! It shocked the hell out of me too when I found out...though I was also too turned on at the time too when I watched them going at it in that hot tub." Nick then winced a little as he remembered that event, but he was still smiling. "It was almost worth getting hot molten spikes shoved through my chest."

"Hmphff."

"You said it, man." Nick inspected the bungee harness one last time and then looked over where the other end of the bungee cord was anchored. "But seriously, John Boy, it's really a good thing we stopped you. Because if we hadn't, there's a good chance you MIGHT have succeeded. And if you did, then her FATHER would find out and...well...he may be a hero to some, I don't think he'd have a problem ripping the arms, legs, and penis off the guy who raped his little girl. I mean, most fathers tend to be that way, right? Honestly, I wouldn't know since I didn't have a father growing up."

"Mmmmph."

"Damn...that must be some really good shit you're on. I mean, you've been pretty chill this whole time. You're a fairly mellow guy despite the fact that you are also a wannabe rapist douche-bag." Nick then let out a resigned sigh. "Alas, our time is done...so...see around buddy."

He then shoved Johnny off the building as he pulled put a cell-phone. "Hello, Pizza Hut? You got any take-out specials?"

* * *

"So where is my date, exactly?" Violet asked.

"Oh, he's hanging around," Jean replied, his eyes widening slightly as he looked out the large ball room bay windows and saw Johnny Sykes swinging back and forth on the bungee cord, bound, gagged, and stripped to his boxers. "Seriously, he'll be popping up soon," he said as he slowly guided Violet towards the edge of the dance-floor, making sure her back was turned to the window. Then he gave her a sad smile. "Sadly, the song is coming to an end, and, as I said, it was just one dance."

Violet smirked at him. "Really, and here I thought you were going to try to get in my pants since I'm now 'legal'."

"Don't flatter yourself, Mademoiselle Parr," Jean countered with a smirk of his own. "Besides, I don't have a death wish." Then he stepped back from her, but gently took one of her hands and kissed it. "But, who knows, maybe some day...you might be worth dying for."

"What's that supposed to-"

"Holy shit!" someone yelled, causing Violet to turn around to see what the commotion was.

"Isn't that Sykes?" someone else asked.

By now, a small crowd of people had gathered in front of the large bay windows and Violet could make out someone dangling outside the window, tied up and gagged. It took her a second to realize that it was her date. She angrily turned around to face Jean. "What did you-"

But Jean had already vanished and Violet quietly cursed at herself as she started to make her way to the window to get a better look at Sykes.

 _Oh, I am so going to beat the crap out of Bomber when I see him next._

As she got closer to the window and people started to move out of her way, she noticed that some of the girls who were glaring at her earlier weren't looking quite as jealous. In fact, their looks varied from amusement to disgust. She wasn't sure why until she got a closer look at Johnny, who was now hanging upside down, a glazed look on his eyes, and a note taped to his chest along with a small pill bottle that was clipped to the harness he was wearing.

 _ **Hi,**_

 _ **My name is Johnny. I use date-rape drugs on the girls I go out with, but I wanted to make sure this batch worked.**_

 _ **And oh-boy, they sure do!**_

A flurry of various emotions went through her. Part of her was pissed at what Jean-Paul Renard had done while another part was even more furious at what Johnny had apparently tried to do. And yet, another part was almost frightened at how close she had come to being one of Sykes' victims.

 _Maybe I was wrong about Jean, and he isn't a complete and total jerk._

Then her cell-phone went off and she almost absentmindedly answered it out of habit. "Hello?"

"You're Welcome," a smug voice said before terminating the connection.

Then a little bit of her anger returned.

 _Nope...still going to beat him up a little,_ she thought to herself as she started to turn around and walk away, her soft giggle getting some strange looks from the others as she left the ballroom.


	4. A Fateful Meeting

**Disclaimer** : Incredibles, owned by Pixar/Disney. Aberrant, owned by White Wolf/Onyx publishing.

 **Author's Notes** : Okay, this little piece takes place shortly after "WoA I: Prelude to Interesting times" and years before "WoA II: Interesting Times". This was an idea I had and kicked around for awhile...it was kind of a "what if" idea. I know "Interesting Times" talked about David meeting Zoe at a fast food restaurant, but then I asked myself "What if Zoe and David actually met years before, but didn't know it at first?" I also wanted to do a few shorts about David trying to integrate himself into human society. I also threw in a little bit of history regarding the Kilmartens and the Parrs (and why certain people hate each other).

* * *

 _ **Metroville Memorial Park**_

 _ **Metroville, California**_

"Why is this necessary?" the young boy asked.

Neil sighed and shook his head as he looked down at the boy he had taken in a few months ago after finding him on that island. "Because, David, we need to see how you react in a normal environment."

The red haired boy looked up at Neil, a curious look on his face. "The garage was normal enough, and there is much work needed to be done on the car if we want to get it working."

"Yes, that's true, but that is not normal for ten year old children," Neil said.

"Technically, I'm only chronologically a few months old...an AI algorithm in a flesh and bone body engineered to-"

Neil cut the boy off. "True, but it doesn't change the fact that you are in the body of a ten year old child and you are still learning about the world."

"What is there to learn? Most human children waste their time when they could be learning things that are important, like engineering."

Neil sighed again. "Look, kid, there's more than just engineering and discovering a pattern for life. You need to live, learn about the outside world by being in it...have fun!"

"Fun?" David asked, tilting his head slightly. "I suppose you are correct, but I was having fun working on the Mustang."

"Tell you what, try to pretend to be a normal kid for an hour and I'll let you work on the Mustang for three hours tonight," Neil said.

David thought about it for a couple seconds before nodding his head. "Deal. So, what should I do?"

Neil pointed to a basketball court at the center of the park. "See those kids down there?"

"Yes, they are playing basketball. I am aware of the rules of the simple game."

Neil shook his head again. "That does not matter, David. What does matter is that you need to learn to interact with others, be able to blend in. You may not be one of them, but you have to be able to blend, or you're going to stick out and be easy to find."

"Logical," David said after a few moments of thought. Then he closed his eyes. "Hold on for a moment. Accessing…acquiring data."

"Um, kid, what are you doing?"

"Looking up data on the internet for psychological behavioral profiles of children of my age group and creating a personality algorithm that will match," David replied. A few seconds later, he twitched slightly and his eyes flashed bluish-green for moment when they opened. "Algorithm complete." This time, when he spoke, there was a slight smirk on his face instead of the bland and neutral expression he had.

Neil managed to contain his surprise at the sudden change in the boy's demeanor. One moment, the kid was quiet, unassuming, and cold; but now he sported a mischievous grin and had a gleam in his eyes that hinted that he was up to no good.

"So let me get this straight." Even the way David now spoke was unnerving. He now sounded like some smart ass kid. "You want me to go down there, associate with the other kids down there, maybe play a little game of hoops and act like them."

"Uh, yeah," Neil said starting to get a sense of dread and unconsciously reaching into his coat pocket for his cellphone.

David shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Whatever...so...I go be a kid for an hour and you'll let me work on the car tonight?"

"Yeah."

The boy smirked at him and winked. "I'll be back in an hour then."

* * *

 **Thirty Minutes Later**

David winced slightly as he got up off the ground. If he were a true ten year old boy, he would assume that the normal behavioral response would be to punch the bigger twelve year old boy standing over him. "I do believe that was a foul," he said, rubbing his jaw.

"That's the way we play," the older boy, whose name was Blaine, sneered. "If you're gonna' be a pussy, you can always leave."

David paused for a moment, several dozen possible scenarios ran through his mind on how to deal with the situation. After taking a look at the other kids on the court, he realized that most of them were fearful of Blaine and his two sycophantic friends. "I see," he finally said, his tone and expression neutral.

"Yeah, you better know your place, newbie," Blaine laughed. "So, you gonna' man up and still play, or are you going to bitch out and run?"

David's expression changed again, his head tilting slightly as his face broke into an evil grin. "So, it's your court, your rules, right?" he asked.

For a moment, Blaine the bully almost had a coherent thought briefly pass through his head. If he actually listened to it, it would have told him something along the lines of, "Oh shit, you fucked up!" But, being the arrogant bully that he was, he ignored it and nodded. "That's, right, kid."

David finally settled on a scenario to deal with Blaine, a non-lethal one. "Since you fouled me, do I at least get a free throw?" he asked.

Blaine shrugged and tossed the newbie the ball as he and the others spread out on both sides of the free-throw line. "Sure, why not."

David took the ball, bounced it off the pavement a couple times as his mind rapidly made the calculations for his shot. He glanced up at the small hill where Neil was standing and watching. There was a concerned look on the man's face and he was starting to approach the basketball court but stopped when David shook his head.

 _My situation, Neil, let me handle it._

After the second bounce, David lined up his shot. "Like you said, your court, your rules," he said, glancing over at Blaine. "So basically anything goes, right?"

The older boy smirked at him. "You got it."

"Just making sure," David said before he took his shot. However, instead of aiming at the basket, he took the ball and threw it right at the ground, giving it just enough spin so it would suddenly bounce back at the desired angle and direction.

The direction and angle happened to coincide where Blaine's face was, hitting him squarely in the forehead and knocking the older boy backwards a few feet before he fell. After careening off of Blaine's forehead, the ball continued on its new trajectory, which was up and through the hoop, a perfect swish and avoiding the rim.

For a few seconds, none of the other boys moved. All of them were stunned at what they saw. The new kid had taken a cheap shot from Blaine, but instead of crying or fighting, merely continued playing and, in one trick shot, knocked the bully to the ground.

David smiled as the ball rolled back to where he was standing and picked it up. "Hmm...I think I like your rules to this game, Blaine."

"You little shit!" Blaine snarled as his two friends helped him up. "I'm gonna' fuck-"

David kicked the basketball, aiming for the backboard instead. The ball ricocheted off the backboard, it's new trajectory slamming it once again into Blaine's face and knocking him down again. This time, the impact caught Blaine in the nose and drew blood.

"Don't be such a...what was that word…yes...pussy….don't be such a pussy, Blaine," David said tauntingly.

"Jordy, Trevor, beat his ass!" Blaine ordered his two thugs.

David shook his head as other two boys approached him. Once again, several scenarios flashed through his head again and he had to force himself to discard most of them. They were more logical ones he wanted to use, but he also knew Neil wouldn't be happy with him.

 _Fine,_ David thought as he ducked a punch from one of the boys, _non-lethal it is._

* * *

Neil sighed as he watched the three ambulance vehicles drive off and a couple familiar nondescript four man sedans pull up. He recognized some of his former co-workers with the NSA Directive and nodded at one of them as they looked in his direction before approaching the area where the other kids (and some of their parents were). He had suspected this as a possible outcome, but he was hoping it was a remote one.

 _Then again, I shouldn't be surprised. At least he didn't kill them, so he's learning._

He then turned to look at David who was now sitting on a park bench, looking off in the distance at some od the nearby pine trees. "What were you thinking?" he asked the boy.

"Retaliating against a hostile threat," David replied, his expression once again neutral and cold, his 'little punk' persona gone since he deemed it no longer required. "He intentionally hit me to prove his dominance over the rest of the kids and myself. I merely played by his 'rules'. Apparently, he didn't like that and neither did his two friends. They attacked, I defended myself."

"You broke the nose and an arm on that Blaine kid, an ankle on one of his friends, and multiple fingers on the other!"

"That was the best course of action to achieve the desired solution to this scenario. They were bullies who scared the other children, so I decided to enact non-lethal protocols to deal with them accordingly."

"David, this wasn't a scenario, this was a real environment. Those were real humans you hurt."

"That's why I went non-lethal," David replied. "And you would also be upset with me if I had killed them."

Neil sighed again and shook his head. If it had been any other kid talking this way, he would have labeled them a punk with an attitude problem. But this wasn't the case with David; yesm David was a ten year old boy, but he was also a genetically engineered being whose personality was defined by coded algorithms and VR simulations. The body was human, but it was an AI in a human husk.

"Look, David, I know you're not-"

"Not human?" David finished for him. "No...but I am trying to acclimate. I don't want to be cold again." The cold neutral expression vanished and Neil saw something he hadn't seen on the boy's face: genuine fear. "Not in the cold, unable to move, not...not...real."

Neil didn't know what to say for a moment. Yes, he was angry at what David had done, but he had managed to break through to the child...the child who was afraid of being "locked back in the cold box". He knelt down so he could be eye level with the boy and put a hand on the kid's shoulder. "David, I'm not going to say what you did was wrong, I know that you realize it on some level. But while your actions were non-lethal, they were too extreme for the situation."

"Perhaps," David admitted, "but I'm sure that Blaine and his cohorts will be reluctant to bully others in the future. But maybe I should employ slightly more delicate techniques when dealing with them in the future."

Neil rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress his grin. "Yeah, like try not to break bones next time. Look, just stay here on the bench until I get back. I'm going to talk to agent McCallister down there and tell him what happened."

David nodded his head. "Acknowledged."

"Yeah, okay, we really need to work on your responses," Neil chuckled as he walked down the hill towards the basketball court where the other Directive Agents were talking to various witnesses.

* * *

David watched as Neil talked to the other agents while he mentally replayed the events that had taken place. After about the twenty-second replay and cross-referencing on what should be normal "juvenile behavior" from various sources on the web, he concluded that Neil was correct that a more "tempered response" should have been required.

 _I approached the situation with faulty parameters. I was treating it as a possible combat situation and responded in kind. I must learn to identify more acceptable parameters and stay within them. Maybe I should-_

"I don't care what he did, Zoe. You should have known better than to do that!"

"But Moooom, it's Dash Parr. He's a douche, he had it coming."

David glanced up in the direction of the voices that broke his train of thought and saw a woman with long brown hair tied back in pony-tail holding the arm of a girl about eight or nine years old and guiding her to the bench.

"That doesn't matter," the obvious mother snapped as she guided Zoe to the other end of the bench. "Now you sit here and behave while your father and I try to fix this situation." She started to walk away, but stopped for a moment to look over her shoulder. "And don't try running off, we can track your signature now."

The girl identified as Zoe muttered something under her breath and slouched in the bench in response.

David turned to look at the girl with curiosity. She was small and definitely on the skinny side, but it looked like she was developing what David would identify as a runner's build. She wore jeans, a t-shirt that had the face of some cartoon mouse on it, and had a small backpack.

And then there was the hair...it was short, spiky, and neon pink.

Curious, David mentally linked to a nearby network and used a bypass to access one of the Directive's surveillance satellites. He had the satellite lock on to his coordinates and scan the area. He was shocked to find at least six quantum energy signatures besides his own indicating that there were six other super-humans in the immediate area. One of those six was sitting on the bench right next to him.

"Interesting," he said, not realizing he said it out loud until the pink haired girl's head snapped up and turned to look at him.

"What are you staring at?" she asked in a snarky tone.

"Your hair's pink," he stated.

"Well, duh, genius," the girl snapped, rolling her eyes. "And yeah, it's natural, and not a dye job."

"And the quantum signature emanating from your body...what is your power?" he asked. "Is that what your mother meant when she said she could track your signature?"

"Um, yeah." The girl's hostile attitude vanished into curiosity as she continued to look at him. "How can you tell? And what's with your eyes?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look like you're staring at nothing."

"Am I? I'm sorry, I do that when I'm linked to a network and acquiring data."

"Acquiring data? Like a computer?" Then the girl's eyes widened in realization. "Wait, that's your power, isn't it? You're like a computer programmer but you don't need a computer to link to the net?"

"Something like that," David replied, intrigued that an eight year old girl would be capable of figuring that out so quickly. "It's actually any type of modern electronic device linked to a network."

"Wicked!" The girl scooted closer to him and extended her hand. "I'm Zoe, pleased to meet ya!"

David shook her hand. He felt a brief shock to his hand and felt a faint electrical current pulse through his arm. As that happened, he noticed his link to the net briefly flickered before disconnecting for a couple moments and reestablishing itself. "Curious, you released an electrical discharge that momentarily killed my connection to the net."

Zoe promptly pulled her hand away. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's kind of a side effect when I use my power. I tend to build up electrical charges and have to discharge them sometimes unless I shock other people on accident." Then a mischievous grin crossed her face. "Or on purpose if your name is Dash."

David was actually amused and chuckled at that. "Then I shouldn't worry about it, my name is David," he said. "If you don't mind me asking, what else can you do?"

Instead of answering right away, Zoe looked around and made sure her parents weren't nearby. When she was certain they were out of sight, she smiled at David. "Watch this."

Before David could process it, Zoe suddenly vanished in a blur of what appeared to be pink and white lightning. "Hmmm...curious."

Three seconds later, Zoe had returned with a paper bag that carried an enticing aroma. She opened the back and pulled out a still warm cinnamon roll that she gave to David. "Fresh out of the oven from the Winthrop Cafe down the road."

"A speedster," David concluded before pausing a moment to sniff the cinnamon roll. "And you specialize in stealing pastries."

"Sometimes," Zoe said. "Not quite as fun as hacking though."

David arched an eyebrow out of curiosity as he killed his link to the network. "Hacking?"

"Yeah," Zoe said. "But I'm just not that good at it yet. Only started learning about computers a year ago. I hope to build my own when I get older. Until then, I'll just have to be happy with writing code."

"No offense, but most girls your age usually aren't into computers."

Zoe shrugged. "Yeah, well, after shoving Barbie and her little sister Skipper into a blender, Mom decided that dolls probably weren't my thing. And then there was the 'My little pony of Death' incident that had me seeing a head doctor for a few weeks. So Dad figured computers were a better deal for me and he was right."

* * *

After talking to Agent McCallister, Neil started up the hill to get David and take the kid home. Thankfully, it was decided that there wouldn't be any major mind wipes, just certain memory alteration. Personally, Neil hated that part of the job and was thankful that he was semi-retired. Wiping someone's memory really bothered him, especially when he had to do it more than once on the same target. He didn't want to know how many times the NSA had to wipe that McKeen girl's mind and he hoped that situation wouldn't come back to bite them in the ass.

He continued up the hill, but stopped when he heard to kid's laughing. He recognized one of them right away and quietly moved into some nearby trees so he would stay out of sight as he listened to David talk to an unknown girl with bright pink hair.

"Is it really that simple?" the girl asked.

David's response was interesting. "Yeah, just have enough redundant variables assigned to interact with various sub-routines generated by the inputted data. That's how some of the basic char-bots work. Gives the illusion of true AI even though it isn't." There was no cold or distant tone in the boy's voice. In fact, he sounded like a normal kid...even though he was talking about technology. "Real free-thinking AIs, on the other hand, are much more complex. Aside from interacting with outside elements, they have to create their own algorithms and sub-routines constantly as they attempt to learn new things while interacting with the outside world."

"Complex and not a reality yet," the girl said.

"Who knows, Zoe, there might be one out there," David said before he finished off the cinnamon roll Zoe had given him.

"And with our luck, it will probably be a Skynet,"

"Skynet?" David asked, unaware of that term. "Is that a program."

"Really, you don't know Skynet, the Terminator….science fiction?"

David shook his head. "No, never read it."

Zoe laughed and shook her head. "It's a movie!"

"Ah, never had a chance to watch one of those," David admitted.

"Seriously? Then what do you do in your spare time?"

"Work on Neil's car."

Before Zoe could respond, Neil stepped out of the trees and walked towards them. "David, it's time to go home."

David nodded and got up off the bench. "It was nice to meet you, Zoe."

The girl gave him a cheerful wave. "See you around, David."

* * *

Five minutes after David had walked off with his guardian, Zoe's mother returned. "We're leaving, Zoe," she said. There was an annoyed look on her mother's face, but Zoe was certain that wasn't because of what she did. Zoe also noticed that her mother was shaking her right hand and that blue-white sparks momentarily danced around her fingers as they clenched and unclenched. "So, you up for ice cream?"

"Wait, I thought I was in trouble," Zoe said as she got up off the bench.

"You are, but I'm feeling lenient at the moment and I feel like I need something cold right now."

"Ooookay," Zoe said, deciding not to turn down ice cream. However, there was one thing that bothered her. "Um...Mom?"

"Yes, Zoe?"

"Is that blood on your hand?"

"Just shut up and get in the car, Zoe."

* * *

Elsewhere in the park, Bob Parr was helping his wife into the car. "Honey, you and Jenny Kilmarten really need to bury the hatchet."

"Like hell I do!" Helen snarled as she placed the makeshift icepack on the left side of her face. "That whore sent her malignant bitch of a daughter after Dash."

"According to witnesses, Dash shoved her off the slide tower," Bob said. "Someone even caught it on camera."

"The little bitch probably deserved it," Helen growled. "She'll probably be a slut like her mother."

Bob sighed as he got into the driver's side and started the car. This was supposed to be a relaxing day for the family in the park. He was just glad Violet was off roller skating with her friends at the mall and didn't get dragged into the little fight with the Kilmartens.

Sitting in the back seat, Dash fumed. He really hated that Kilmarten girl, she was a freak, just like her mother. At least that's what his mom told him. But what upset Dash more was that he found out that Kilmarten was like him...but only faster. And that, he didn't like...no one was better than him. He was the fastest, and the freak was going to learn her place.

Next to Dash, sitting in his car seat, Jack-Jack Parr was thinking about something important...like when the next bottle was coming.

* * *

"So, who's the girl?" Neil playfully asked as he drove down the road. "Anything I should be worried about?"

David glared at Neil from the passenger seat. "Don't you think I'm a little too young to be thinking about THAT?"

Neil laughed and shook his head. "Just kidding, David. But I have to admit, it was interesting watching you interact with her."

"She had a rudimentary knowledge of computer programming, but actually understood some of the concepts I talked about," David said, shrugging his shoulders. "In time, she might actually learn enough to accomplish something meaningful."

"That's cold, kid."

"No, just honest," David said. Then he paused and actually smiled a little. "On the other hand, it was nice talking to someone who could understand me." Then his smile morphed in to a frown. "Sadly, I doubt we'll ever meet again."


End file.
